


Dreamwalking

by masongirl



Series: Fluences [4]
Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotions, Episode: s01e08 The Last Patrol, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, M/M, Pneumonia, Sick Character, Soulmates, Spooning, Synesthesia, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25913197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongirl/pseuds/masongirl
Summary: Ron is a dead man who doesn't want to fall in love.(Soulmate AU in which soulmates can sense each other's emotions if they are close enough.)
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs
Series: Fluences [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633723
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	Dreamwalking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr request. :)

His bond is the only thing that tethers Ron to humanity throughout this war. He eats, drinks, sleeps and kills like a machine that will extinguish lives as long as there's enough oil and ammo to fire the metal, and his thoughts are rocks in a desert. He looks at his soldiers and stops seeing faces. They are pawns and tools in a game they already lost. It's not a life anymore, but hell's entrance hall, limbo on Earth. He realised that this would be his future back in Normandy, hanging from a piece of fabric in the air while shots rained up from the ground below. He's already dead. 

It's only his soulmate's care that borrows him some precious time. Ron can shut his own emotions away and ignore his men's, but Carwood's would follow him to the Styx itself and pull his soul out of the ferryman's clutches even if it deserved to be reaped. He breaks through Ron's shields and makes him feel every single day. He genuinely believes that not all hope is lost, and Ron's deprived, lonely heart clings to that conviction even though he knows it's a false promise. He will never get what he wants when he's all but a ghost.

 **Annoyed,** Carwood flares up in his mind again like blazing fire and a pinch on Ron's hand, interrupting Ron's painless, colourless thoughts. He doesn't like it when Ron muses about the nature of war, because it gets 'very cold' around him. Ron can't quite fathom what that means, because he certainly isn't disturbed by his own ideas. In fact, this is how he soothes himself.

"You should be sleeping, First Sergeant." He whispers as he walks back into their room for the night, and closes the door. 

When he reaches the rickety bed, he strokes Carwood's cheeks and wipes at the damp patches on his forehead. Carwood doesn't reply, can't, and his breathing sounds like a softly blown whistle as his chest struggles to rise. He stares at Ron with his hooded, fever-sick eyes and sends a cloud of inky black **fatigue** that settles in Ron's throat with chilling pain. Every time Carwood inhales, the darkness thickens in his mind, and each exhale comes with needle-stings of barely avoided coughing. His skin is sallow in the soft lamplight. He looks like this could be the night of his passing.

Ron prays.

He kneels next to the bed and bows his head until his forehead is pressed to his hands, his knuckles to Carwood's hip, and he chants words under his breath, lines that haven't left his mouth since he was a child. _Distraught. Scared._ He does not want to feel any of these things, but he's a prisoner of his feelings now and he doesn't think he can bear dying just yet, when Carwood has dragged him back from the edge with his endless affection and understanding.

"It's all right." Carwood murmurs, cradling Ron's head for a second before his hand falls back down to rest on Ron's neck, two soft fingertips wriggling under the collar. They tickle, but it's barely enough to draw a lightning-fast puff of joy.

Ron looks up. "It's not. If it doesn't improve tonight, you're going back from the line." 

He leaves no question, says it as Carwood's captain, unashamed to pull rank on him, and Carwood understands this as well. The sour flavour of his emotions make it clear. **Displeased, unhappy, indignant.**

Ron hardens the impassive mask on his face. "I don't care. You can hate me all you want, as long as you survive."

 **Sorry.** Carwood sniffs and curls away, towards the wall. He's dripping venomous green through their connection. **Self-loathing.** Ron sighs and pulls the insufficient, threadbare blanket higher, then climbs on the mattress and wraps himself around Carwood's trembling body. He's not quite certain how to offer the most comfort, because he doesn't have much experience in that regard, but as soon as his arm settles around Carwood's torso, the fluences he receives brighten and a smooth orange hue takes over the sickly murk. It's the pattern Ron has come to identify as **calm.**

"I thought of a new game." He tucks his knees behind Carwood's and closes his eyes. **Interested,** comes the answer. "Squeeze my wrist if you like it."

Ron doesn't know why, but he's really good at sending a continuous flow of emotions when he's pressed to his soulmate like this. He has no desire to test the distance he can bridge, but he has been working on his speed ever since they got surrounded in Bastogne and maybe, if he concentrates, he'll be able to extend that to faint sensations tonight. He thinks of spring in Boston, the first hints of warmth in the wind, the sprawling magnolias and the sea of pink blossoms, and pushes it across. Carwood responds at first, trying to send something peaceful back, but it blows into Ron's mind with the chill of Bastogne's winds. His lungs burn from the impression of icy air flooding down his windpipe.

"Stop." Ron says and fits himself closer to Carwood's back. He wonders, not for the first time, if the reason why he has been feeling so out of sorts these days is pneumonia. The ghost of it, an echo. "Don't reply, please."

"What's the game then?" Carwood whispers. His voice is a hoarse, feeble mess.

"Patience." Ron nuzzles the back of his neck. He wants to press a kiss there, but they haven't crossed that boundary yet and he isn't sure. In the Bois Jacques, it was different. Nothing that happened there reflects how they will live their lives after this is over. Even though Carwood sent him a real kiss once, Ron cannot take that sentiment as a confession. "It's a simple game. I'll think of a memory and walk you through it. You're my passenger."

"Okay." Carwood sighs.

It pleased Ron beyond his expectations to call him something of his. If only he could say the word 'soulmate' without feeling ridiculous for it in front of the men. He wishes he could announce his bond out loud the way most soldiers did with their sweethearts before they left the States.

 **Amused,** Carwood pokes him tentatively through their connection. He slips his hand around Ron's. "I don't recall you kissing me at the company CP."

Despite his embarrassment, Ron feels victorious for conveying such a clear picture. "Did you see that?"

"I -" Carwood breaks into a coughing fit and his suffocating **hurt** blinds Ron for a second. The following **sorry** is weaker than an autumn leaf.

"Don't speak." 

Ron tightens his hold around Carwood's chest, and they plunge back into his memories in silence. Running barefoot on wet concrete, drinking soda at sunset, climbing walls, laughing, shouting, stealing sweets. It's impossible to say how much of it transfers, but Ron figures he's doing a good job, because Carwood pulls his hand up and presses his lips to Ron's knuckles, then the back of that hand. It makes Ron's knees liquid and his stomach burning hot. How could anyone kiss _his_ hand, his forever bloody skin? It's mystifying, like a butterfly mistaking a gun for a flower.

"I'm dreaming," Carwood mumbles and falls asleep that way, with his breaths fanning Ron's wrist.

Free to stop projecting serenity, Ron lets his thoughts wander back to his predicament. He's an officer in a war, but he's been fighting on two fronts since D-Day and he's losing the battles hidden inside. He's falling in love. And love… It's more dangerous than hope can ever be. What if he makes it to the end but Carwood doesn't?

_~End~_

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome :)


End file.
